


The Sheriff, The Outlaw, and The Storm

by fireroasted



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/F, Gratuitous Cowboy Smut, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:14:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireroasted/pseuds/fireroasted
Summary: Sheriff Aubrey Posen has finally managed to capture legendary outlaw Stacie Conrad. Unfortunately, Lady Luck isn't quite in her favour when a massive dust storm traps them in a run-down shack in the middle of nowhere.
Relationships: Stacie Conrad/Aubrey Posen
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	The Sheriff, The Outlaw, and The Storm

Sheriff Aubrey Posen peered through the hairline crack of two haphazardly hammered boards. She saw nothing but a field of coppery-grey fog, obscuring everything for miles on end. She didn’t have to look to know how bad it was outside—the constant howling of the last hour was enough indication. Still, she looked, because for the first time in her life, she didn’t know what else to do.

Everybody within the five-hundred-mile radius of Bard’s Hollow knew Sheriff Posen was the strictest mistress of the law around. Papa Sheriff Posen Sr. had singlehandedly caught hundreds of the most dastardly outlaws in the Midwest, and by the power of birthright, ingenuity, rumoured pacts with the devil himself, and an unwavering faith in law and order, Aubrey had doubled her father’s numbers by the time she was nineteen. Her name alone brought a quiver to the toughest cowboys’ boots.

She could rescue the innocent from a runaway train, tame the wildest stallions with a whisper, catch murderers and thieves by the bushel, eat a few hearts in between, and make it back to the saloon to share a pint and a song with her deputies by sundown. She could vanquish any evil, bring any man to his knees by pistol, lasso, whip, or glare.

So one would think that given her reputation and renown, figuring out where to put her arms and legs would not be _this_ goddamned difficult! But, as she nervously hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans, cleared her throat, and adjusted her white Stetson for the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes—it was.

And it was all because of the eyes she felt burning into her back as she stood pretending to look out a boarded-up window.

Eyes that belonged to a handcuffed woman sitting on a cot, the only piece of furniture in the room not covered in dust. A woman whose annoyingly persistent smile is clear enough in her mind that she doesn’t even have to turn around to feel its effects prickling at her.

“You know,” the voice behind her said in a slow drawl, “that storm isn’t going to pass anytime soon. With all due respect, ma’am, staring at it isn’t going to change anything.”

Finally, Aubrey turned, scowling.

Stacie Conrad was wanted in three states and branded highly dangerous on wanted posters everywhere. She was a thief and a murderer, rumoured to have killed at least a hundred men with just the spur of her boot. Incredible stories of deception and seduction followed Stacie Conrad wherever she went. She’d broken out of jail cells, out-ran cougars, out-gunned men more notorious than her. Her exploits were legendary, and Aubrey spent months tracking her down.

Finally, she’d found her thieving a rancher’s home at the edge of town with the rancher’s wife in her clutches, and she’d chased her out past the outskirts of Bard’s Hollow and beyond. She’d rescued the rancher’s wife with a well-time lasso, scaring Stacie Conrad’s horse into dropping her cart. While the rancher’s wife and belongings would safely make it back into town, Aubrey would not allow Stacie Conrad to escape justice for her villainous ways.

Finally, she caught her in a run-down shack, both of their horses too exhausted to go on. Finally, she put the cuffs around her and claimed her victory.

Catching Stacie Conrad was going to be her greatest accomplishment; dragging her into town in a pair of handcuffs meant the old cronies around town would _stop_ comparing her to her father.

Instead, she was trapped in a sudden, massive dust storm inside a shack barely six feet across with only a bed, half a cannister of water, a single candle on a dilapidated table, and veritably one of the sexiest felons to ever cross the history books.

And the way she was grinning at her now? The way her heart immediately responded by leaping out of her chest? She didn’t prepare for any of this. She couldn’t have _imagined_ any of this only hours ago, when she’d chased her out here on a horse that had since run away like her double-crossing heart.

Stacie lifted her hands. “Are these really necessary? I can’t exactly go anywhere.”

The effort of lifting the heavy iron shackles, however, inadvertently drew Aubrey’s gaze to the open collar of her linen shirt, and the way her suspenders seemed to strain across the curves of her chest.

She sucked in a breath, then turned back to the boarded window.

The iron chains rattled quietly against the backdrop of the fierce wind outside. “You’re not much for talking, are you, Sheriff?” Stacie said with a girlish laugh.

Aubrey clenched her fists inside the pocket of her long coat. Everything Stacie Conrad did was simply so unexpected. From her beauty to the musicality of her voice to the softness of her joyful expressions—none of these qualities were what she expected from a wanted woman.

None of these qualities were what she expected to _want_ in a woman.

She almost didn’t recognize the ravenous face of desire, having kept it down for so long in favour of bigger and greater things. She would always lead with her head first—tradition, law, and order above all else. Bard’s Hollow counted on her in ways its denizens did not even realize. In ways her father failed to upkeep when he shirked his responsibilities and ran away to the North.

For all of this to be tested now by a woman who refuted tradition, law, _and_ order—this was simply unacceptable.

“It sure is getting chilly,” Stacie commented. “Think I can borrow your coat?”

Aubrey spun around to level a glare, but the first thing she noticed was that Stacie had crossed her leg, the brown fabric of her trousers hugging the length of them snugly as she rested her cuffs in her lap. When she finally raised her eyes to meet Stacie’s, the no-good criminal smirked.

Then she rose slowly, like water pooling up into sand. She took a step toward her, and Aubrey’s hand flew to her gun as she took a step back.

Stacie chuckled, low and taunting. Aubrey tried not to shiver. “What do you think I’m trying to do?” She asked.

“Stay back,” Aubrey barked, turning slightly to flash the hilt of her gun. “I’ve heard enough stories about you to make a few educated guesses.”

“Well, if you heard the stories with your own ears, then everything _must_ be true,” Stacie said, drawing out the syllables for an extra healthy dose of provocation. She took a step closer.

“Every story has a grain of truth,” Aubrey said defiantly in spite of the way she soon found her back pressed to the boarded wall.

“Then tell me, Sheriff,” Stacie said with a wicked grin, “what have you heard about me?”

Aubrey’s eyes widened as she pushed closer still, until she stood toe to toe, her height edging the brim of her Stetson back to stand close enough to suck the words right out from her lungs. Aubrey’s gaze darted from her lips to her eyes and back, the panic building as her thoughts raced in nonsensical loops.

“Is it the thieving, the murdering, the deceiving, or the seducing?” Stacie whispered, sending a shiver up her spine. All coherent thought came to an abrupt stop when she leaned into her ear. “I’ll tell you one thing—I’m only good at one of those things.” She pulled away to flash a smile and a wink. “Don’t believe everything you hear, beautiful.”

Aubrey scowled once more, desperately hoping it could off-set the uncomfortable warmth creeping up her neck and across her cheeks.

She was a hero, goddammit, and she would _not_ be felled by a felon.

No matter how beautiful her eyes were up close. Or how kissable her lips looked. Or how her shirt seemed to fall open _just_ enough to tantalize her.

“You don’t say much, but you have _very_ expressive eyes, you know that?” Aubrey frowned at the amusement dripping in her tone, but before she could deny it, Stacie forced her way into her space once more. She gasped, prompting a grin. “Anything you desire,” she said, a mere inch from her lips, “I am happy to give.” Her heart nearly burst out of her chest when their breaths intermingled—she could feel the iron cuff digging into her stomach, Stacie’s fingers spreading along the limited surface area of her vest. She imagined them against her skin, the anticipation alone filling her head like moonshine. “I can change your world if you unlock these handcuffs,” came her continued whisper. “My hands, at the very least, will thank you. Thoroughly.”

“I…I…” Aubrey stuttered, her blood pumping loud in her ears as tempers suddenly flared at the sound of her own voice. This wasn’t right—none of this wasn’t right. This helpless woman, so consumed by passion she could barely move—this wasn’t her. Sheriff Aubrey Posen did not bend for anyone or anything. And she _certainly_ would not bend over a dusty cot for a beautiful criminal—

The image sent a fresh wave of fire through her body, and the shock of it shoved Stacie back with such force that she stumbled back onto the bed with a yelp, eyes wide in surprise as the weight of her handcuffs nearly knocked her down onto the floor. Stacie’s hat, which had long fallen to the floor, was kicked across the room.

In the tussle, the right side of Stacie’s suspenders slid, pulling her shirt with her to reveal ever more skin. Aubrey swore internally, tipping her hat to hide her gaze.

“You are as strong as they say,” Stacie mumbled, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. The smile returned. “But maybe not as cold-blooded as people seem to think.”

Aubrey gasped, her eyes snapping up to snag Stacie’s in a glare. “Cold-blooded?” she snapped. “Why, how dare you!”

“Oh, pardon me, ma’am, I was certain you’d heard the rumours of your own reputation,” Stacie said, though she did not look the least bit contrite. “You are the Ice-Cold Hand of Justice, the Sexless Mistress of the Devil—though, I see now there is nothing sexless about you, Sheriff.” She smirked. “Or cold, for that matter, as much as you like to pretend. You’re as hot-blooded as the rest of us.”

“Don’t lump me in with your lot,” Aubrey fumed. “You know nothing about me.”

“Nor you me,” Stacie replied with a raise of the brow. “Yet you believe I am some sort of demon.”

“You—you tried to seduce me!”

“Oh, I assure you that you tried to seduce me first,” Stacie laughed.

Aubrey gasped. “I—I did no such thing!”

“Are you not aware of what your hand is doing?”

Aubrey’s attention flew to the finger hooked into the neck of her red, cotton cravat, slowly easing apart the knot, and dropped her hand like it was on fire. She hadn’t taken notice of her hands in quite some time. The top button of her vest was undone too. When did that happen?

It was simply too warm in here, she reasoned. She would’ve said it out loud too—would’ve denied it until her last breath, had Stacie not crossed her leg over her knee again.

Had she not widened her grin and said, “I am many things, but I am not blind. I can recognize that look in your eyes from a hundred miles away. You will deny it, I’m sure, but it does make me curious.” She rested the heavy cuffs on her knee and tapped it with a long finger. “How, my dear _innocent_ Sheriff, will you survive the night with only one bed?”

Aubrey glowered—she hadn’t thought of this problem yet, but she would sooner die than admit such an oversight to someone as arrogant and full of themselves as Stacie Conrad. “I assure you, it is entirely your imagination,” she said, as calmly as possible in spite of the simmering fury below the surface. “As for the bed, it is a simple solution. You will sleep on the floor.”

Stacie glanced down at the floor, then back up to Aubrey, unimpressed. “I will not,” she simply declared.

“Yes,” Aubrey said, pulling her gun out of its holster. “You will.”

Stacie rolled her eyes. “You can threaten me with a pistol all you want, but I am not sleeping on the floor. I am perfectly comfortable on the bed.”

Aubrey marched up to her and held the gun to her forehead. “As my _prisoner_ , I’m afraid you do _not_ get a choice in this matter.”

Stacie looked up at her, the annoying smirk unwavering despite the cool metal pressed against her. “My lord, you have beautiful eyes,” she said.

“Stop that,” Aubrey huffed. “You are not seducing your way out of this. Get on the floor!”

“I will not,” Stacie repeated. “And you can put your gun away, because I know you will not kill me.” One long finger resting on her knee reached out and gently ran itself along the inside seam of her coat. She dropped her voice again, spreading heat to every nerve ending as she spoke: “You have been thinking about me all night—what I would taste like on your lips, what I would feel like pressed against you, what I would do once I inevitably rip your clothes from your body. You will not kill me until you know, but once you know, you will not be able to pull that trigger.”

“You…” Aubrey growled, “are you willing to bet your life on your fanciful imagination?” She pushed her gun a little harder, though her palms grew clammier.

“Ma’am, with all due respect, you can’t stop stealing glances down my shirt,” Stacie laughed. “So, yes.”

Aubrey flushed crimson. So stunned by her boldness, she stood rooted to the spot, offering just enough time for Stacie to shoot up to her full height, the extra inches seeming to tower over Aubrey as she knocked the gun out of her hands. She’d barely felt the cool metal slid out from between her own fingers, barely processed the speed at which her authority was slipping away from her grasp, when a pair of plush lips swept down onto her own, stealing every ounce of breath that allowed her to function.

A dim part of her mind kicked and screamed—Stacie Conrad was a dangerous woman—but every other part of her screamed for something else altogether. Its voice was loud, like a slumbering beast awaken from the depths by a single touch, and it was hungry. All reason flew out the window when she closed her eyes and pushed back, reaching for her face to deepen the kiss—she felt Stacie’s surprise, felt the stutter in her movements and heard the rattle of her handcuffs.

Her hands roam down the length of her neck and to the slender curve of her shoulder, just beneath the loose fabric of her shirt. She was soft to the touch, warm and pliable as Aubrey explored her mouth, as she coaxed a moan from Stacie that immediately sent a flood of desire right to the pinnacle of her pleasure.

Stacie was shoved back onto the cot. The clinking of the iron cuffs, the stunned expression on her parted lips, the ragged breaths as she met her eyes—Aubrey seized her power with a smirk. She shed her coat along with the five-point badge on her lapel, and threw it to the dusty floor before kneeling into the cot, one leg at a time on either side of Stacie’s hips. “You’re _my_ prisoner and you do _not_ get to seduce me first,” she said, tilting her Stetson back with one hand while she seized a handful of Stacie’s shirt with another. “You don’t get to touch me, you don’t get to speak—you are only allowed to breathe right now because _I_ say so—is that understood?”

Stacie nodded stiffly—her eyes were darker now, her breathing still uneven, her shirt practically hanging off one shoulder as she held it in her fist, and the way she looked beneath her, bound hands held as if in offering—Aubrey’s lips spread into a grin. This was more like it.

Stacie had heard many stories about Sheriff Aubrey Posen. Like most stories out here, however, the truth was always wrapped in fifty layers of falsehoods and decorated with flourish. If the truth existed in the first place. So, she never paid them any mind—she wasn’t a fan of hero stories anyway.

But as she sat now, at the complete mercy of this woman of legend, aching with desire as she looked into her hungry eyes, it occurred to her that no cowboy’s tall tales could have prepared her for this.

She watched the slow movements of her hand as she unwound the red fabric of her tie from around her neck, then gasped when she wrapped the strip of cloth around across her mouth. “I find you far more bearable when you don’t speak,” Aubrey said with a smirk.

Stacie’s heart pounded in a way she’d never experienced before. Part fear of what she would do next, part thrill for the next touch, part anger because _never_ had a woman or man beat her at her own game. Never as easily as Aubrey had done.

There would be nowhere to go while the dust storm raged outside, but it would not be difficult to push her off and regain the upper hand, to win back control and stave off this terribly vulnerable position. But there was something exciting about the way the cotton tastes in her mouth, something so sexy about the way she couldn’t stop the beautiful Sheriff from unbuttoning the last few buttons of her shirt, even if she wanted to.

So, she didn’t. She simply watched in delicious anticipation as she parted her shirt, as far as her suspenders would allow. She shivered when her fingers touched her hot skin, trailing a path from her neck to her collar, down the length of her sternum, and around the shape of her breasts. She was nervous, Stacie realized as she studied the focus in her expression.

She couldn’t help but smile beneath the red cloth, couldn’t help but want to tease her in spite of her position. Aubrey was simply adorable.

And she glanced into her eyes now, as if she had heard the thought, and glared. With renewed vigour, she pushed Stacie down across the bed and pushed her shackled hands above her head. Gone were the tentative fingertips, replaced instead by a hot tongue on her breast while hands unbuckled her suspenders and pulled the fabric out of her pants to finally lay themselves on her skin. Stacie’s breath hitched as her tongue worked against her, and she arched when expert fingers found the other. The cuffs rattled, but the weight of them pinned them down as she curved against her.

Everything felt desperately hot as she bit down on the red cloth, bit down on the moans that would give away too much. But Aubrey was torturously thorough with her attention, and she could feel the need build—she needed her mouth elsewhere, but all she could do was sigh.

Aubrey’s palms slid along her sides and stomach as her mouth travelled to her other breast. Slightly calloused fingertips left trails of goosebumps in their wake. Stacie’s chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, and she closed her eyes, frustrated by the anticipation as her body stretched out, begging for more in its own silent language. Had she not been so overwhelmed by the sensations along the length of her body, perhaps she would have felt the burn of shame for her blatant need. But everything else was so hot, and she needed so much more.

Aubrey lifted her head and rested her hands on either side of the hips she was still straddling. She was suddenly struck with a moment of reprieve from the unrelenting hunger, and she gazed down now at the woman beneath her. She took in the beautiful expanse of candlelit skin, the way her shirt spread out beneath her like pinned wings. She watched, in fascination, the rise and fall of her perfect breasts, and eventually, the dark, delirious eyes staring back at her, questioning. Begging.

She unbuttoned the black vest she wore and threw it alongside her coat, leaving her in just her white shirt tucked into her black pants. And she loved the way Stacie looked at her now, the desire deepening with every layer peeled back.

Stacie Conrad was a road she would not return from. The way she felt in her hands, the flavour of her kiss, the fire she lit in the pit of her stomach—this alone was intoxicating. And she couldn’t wait to touch her.

She popped the button on her trousers and dipped her fingers into the waist, inciting a sharp intake of breath as Stacie closed her eyes. Slowly, she slid further beneath the fabric and watched, heart racing as Stacie lifted her hips, arching her back once more to guide her journey. Her free hand crept behind Stacie, cradling the arc as she leaned against her, her hat tumbling behind her as she scraped her her teeth against the slender curve of Stacie’s neck.

She slid further and further south, drawn in by the radiating heat of her core. Further and further south, until her finger dipped between the folds and Stacie’s muffled moan strained against her ear. She brushed by the sensitive nerves and drinks in the shiver of Stacie’s body exhaling against her, then slid her finger into the awaiting pool. She felt the wet warmth enclose around her in tandem with the molten heat gathering between her own legs.

Stacie’s arms came down. Her heavy cuffs digging into Aubrey’s back as she spread her wider. A second finger followed, the fabric stretched taut against her hand as Stacie’s hips ground itself against her.

Muffled words pushed against the red tie around Stacie’s mouth, incoherent in its whispered desperation. She wanted Aubrey to rip her pants wide open and fill her hard and deep. But ever the tease, Aubrey withdrew her fingers and lifted her head, as far as Stacie’s handcuffs behind her neck allowed her. She brought her fingers to her lips and held Stacie’s dazed eyes as her tongue swiped them clean. Stacie blinked back, her cheeks flushed pink as she released a soft grunt of frustration.

Aubrey smirked and took her time. She edged down, out of the pseudo-embrace of Stacie’s arms, to stand by the edge of the bed and throw her shadow over her in the dim light. Stacie breathed hard as she stared back up at her, her frustration so clear that she looked almost pained. Aubrey studied that expression while she took off Stacie’s boots.

These boots, brown leather with a silver star-shaped spur—she’d heard so many rumours of the way this woman used them to kill. Yet here she was, desperate to drop everything and bear herself entirely to her, aching to be at the mercy of her whims. She pulled off her trousers—all she had left was an open shirt, the red tie around her mouth, and a pair of handcuffs, and she was enchanting. In this state, she was as far from the wicked outlaw Aubrey thought she knew. As she raked her eyes over her body, she realized that triumphant feeling she had when she first put those handcuffs on her was gone. The victorious feeling she had when she’d kissed her back, when she’d conquered over the expansion of her skin—this too was gone. She was utterly possessed by her beauty.

She unlocked the handcuffs and threw them to the floor with a heavy thump. She then pulled the red cloth down to her neck—this was it: the masterpiece as it was intended.

Stacie didn’t move as she watched Aubrey appraise her. Her entire body ached to be touched, yet something about the Sheriff’s gaze had changed. Without a word, she used her new freedom to push herself up to a sitting position, close enough to reach Aubrey and touch the button of her shirt. She was eager to see the softness beyond, but Aubrey clapped a hand around her wrist. She didn’t speak—there was no reprimand in her eyes. She simply laid her back onto the bed and kissed her lips. She was gentle this time, almost tender, and it set her entire body aflame.

Stacie weaved her fingers in Aubrey’s hair, sighing into her lips as her legs spread to accommodate her between them. Stacie welcomed her once more into her mouth, and Aubrey didn’t hesitate, exploring every inch while her hands roamed across the landscape of her body, reacquainting themselves with their favourite curves.

When Aubrey broke the kiss, Stacie’s eyes opened to find Aubrey’s boring into her. Tentatively, Stacie touched her face. “Touch me,” she whispered into the inch of candlelit darkness between them.

Aubrey hitched a breath.

Gently, she pulled her hips down, closer to the edge of the bed, and kissed her once more. Heated this time and hungry as she obeyed Stacie’s request. Her fingertips traced the length of her wetness, then back up to the nerves straining for her attention. When she gave it, Stacie moaned into her mouth, her hands clawing at the fabric of her shirt. A little more pressure, and she was lost to her instincts.

A little more and she’d—

Aubrey dipped inside with two fingers, slow and steady as she savoured the way she embraced them and sucked them in. Stacie groaned, clinging closer to her as she gasped into her shoulder, biting down softly to brace for the slow, building rhythm Aubrey had set. Her mind swirled, desperate to quicken the pace and deepen the touch, but there was something about Aubrey’s absolute control against the tenderness of her lips against her jaw—something that fanned the flames within like nothing else.

As the rhythm built, as the pressure mounted, her legs wrapped themselves around her waist, needing to feel as close as she could. Her back arched, her eyes closed as she filled the room with a voice she did not recognize. Her hands clutched her shirt for dear life when finally, in a moment where she felt her soul leave her body only to come crashing down with a cry, she heard the howling wind once more and felt Aubrey’s arm tighten against her, drawing out the last shocks of pleasure until everything was still.

Nobody spoke as reality crept in, their beating hearts pressed together if only to avoid each other’s eyes for a little longer. Beating hearts that ran free just hours ago. Two indomitable, untameable, and wild hearts that beat only to the rhythm of their own will. And now—

Stacie buried her nose into Aubrey’s shirt and took in the musty scent of dust, sweat, and something uniquely her. She breathed deep in order to etch this moment into her memory.

Aubrey, meanwhile, slowly released her grip on Stacie. Inside, she was shaking with anguish for what she’d done while wrestling with the intensity of a hunger that was still not satisfied. She could feel the heat, practically overflowing down her legs. She felt her body, begging for release. She could feel her ego, silencing the words she so desperately wanted to say.

But Stacie found her eyes, and she held them with a tenderness she did not expect. “I have heard so many stories of your heroism,” she said, cradling her cheek with a palm. “You have defeated so many villains, and while I’m no villain, as much as you may believe it, I do consider myself utterly defeated.” She smiled. “Would you allow a sinner like me to return the favour?”

Aubrey felt her cheeks warm. She had never been witness to such level of gallantry, much less be the subject of it. She was used to fear, derision, or even the arrogance Stacie wore at the beginning of their encounter. This—she did not know what to do with this, for not only did she humble herself so earnestly, she also seemed echo this hunger that refused to be satiated.

Her ego continued to hold her words hostage, so she simply nodded.

Stacie grinned and kissed her once more as she pushed up and rolled Aubrey onto her back. The surprise in her expression quickly gave way to discomfort as she blinked up at her—this was a woman unused to forfeiting her power, and Stacie took a moment to assure her with a kiss on the cheek as she hovered over her on all fours.

It was cool in the room, still in only her shirt and the red band around her neck, but the warmth of Aubrey’s body radiated through her palms as she explored. She was so soft, yet so solid and warm, even through her starched, white shirt.

Aubrey Posen was a road she would not return from. The way she trembled in her hands, the passion in her eyes, the life she breathed into her very soul—this alone was intoxicating. And she couldn’t wait to taste her.

She made quick work of the buttons on her shirt, and admired the beauty of candlelight against her skin. She worshipped the length of her body in a shower of kisses, but she knew from the way Aubrey squirmed and the way her fingers flexed against her hair, pushing her further and further down, that she needed no more encouragement. Stacie tugged her trousers down, as far as her boots would allow, then kneeled down against the floorboards with a creak as she pulled Aubrey into her mouth.

The first moment of impact was a barrage on her senses that reignited her passion like nothing else. Aubrey’s fingers in her hair, her moan shooting right through the ceiling, the scent of desire smeared against her nose, the exquisite flavours, and the beauty of everything before her eyes—she could lose herself in these senses for the rest of her life if Aubrey allowed her. But Aubrey was already so close.

Her tongue swirled against her while her fingers parted her open. Fingers in her hair tightened while hips lifted, cries of delirious pleasure filling her ears like music. Yes, she was almost there.

Two fingers slid inside easily while her tongue quickened its pace. Aubrey writhed beneath her, her breathing increasingly unsteady as her voice climbed along the crest of her release. 

A third finger joined, striking the inner wall and bringing them down against her. Stacie glanced up, across the soft curves of Aubrey’s body suspended above her, head thrown back in indescribable pleasure.

She slowed her pace and drew it out while she shivered.

Once every tremor subsided, she placed one last kiss to her soft lips and slowly rose to her feet. Aubrey watched her, propped up on her elbows as she swept her long, golden hair back. She was still breathing hard, still flushed from the exhilaration. And Stacie was captivated.

Like this, they were as far from their reputation as they could be. As far from simple games of winning and losing. In this moment, she was not a victim for misconstrued truths of stories she could not control. She was simply a woman enraptured by another, a prisoner of her own volition. And she wondered, as her fingers weaved the silver button through the buttonhole of Aubrey’s jeans, what was to become of her now.

Aubrey sat up and reached for her hand. Her brows furrowed and she avoided her eyes, as if she too held the same question in her mind. With Stacie’s hand in hers, she spoke first, though the unexpected question surprised them both: “Was this what you had in mind with Mr. Shepherd’s wife?”

Stacie chuckled and shook her head. “I was trying to take Lucille away and help her start a new life. As a friend. Her husband has been cruel to her for a very long time, but contrary to what most people believe, the law isn’t always just.”

Aubrey frowned, then pulled away from Stacie. Stacie felt the loss immediately, the flicker of uncertainty across her expression adding an extra stab to her heart as reality set in. They were of two different worlds, the cat and the mouse, the night and the day—they were never supposed to meet like this, never supposed to feel like this. Yet here she was, ridiculously feeling a loss over something she never had.

She dropped her hand and pulled her shirt around herself, eyes turned upward with a sigh. “I don’t expect you to understand,” she said. Then, she scoffed a laugh. “You can put the cuffs back on in the morning, Sheriff. I will find another way.”

Suddenly, the darkness fell over them when an unexpected breeze snuffed out their candle. Neither moved in the dark, waiting instead for each other’s silhouettes to return.

Stacie felt Aubrey’s warm hand once more in hers, pulling her gently toward the bed. She laid down and felt Aubrey curl up against her, felt the warmth of her bare skin against her own, and the scratch of her pants wrapping against her leg. “I’m tired,” Aubrey whispered. Tired of the expectations she never lived up to, of shutting her eyes to the hypocrisy of everything she was taught to believe; tired of the stories, of the goddamn loneliness that came with them. Tired of never being able to find the right words to express any of these things.

So, of course, Stacie chuckled, her hand absently stroking Aubrey’s hair as she stared up at the darkness, overlooking the weight behind those two words. “Everything will be right again in the morning,” she said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“When have things ever been right?” Aubrey asked with a sigh. “Tell me why the world thinks you’re a bloodthirsty murderer-seductress.”

This time, Stacie’s laugh was genuine. “That’s going a bit far, I think. I suppose I have a habit of falling in love with the plight of the helpless, generally women whose husbands aren’t too happy with my heroism. A man once fell off a ladder as I was walking by, minding my own business, and a young marshal recognized me—I’d turned down his drunken advances in the saloon nights prior, and I suppose he never forgave me for it and branded me a murderer. I’m sure the stories are far more exciting.”

“I suppose you didn’t kill a hundred men with the spur of your boot either, then?” Aubrey asked.

Stacie laughed once more, amused this time by how serious she was. “I was a dancer and a barmaid before I became an outlaw, but I doubt even the strongest legs could kill a hundred men with a spur. I don’t suppose _you_ could catch runaway trains and tame stallions with a whisper.”

“I leapt onto a speeding train once from a horse in order to catch a bootlegger,” Aubrey said matter-of-factly, “and wild horses seem to like me. Maybe more than people do. Then again, horses don’t blame me for punishing them for crimes they commit.”

“I think people like you. They are simply in awe of how extraordinary you are too.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Aubrey scoffed. “You said it yourself—the Ice-Cold Hand of Justice.”

Stacie shifted to her side to wrap an arm around her waist. In such dense darkness, she could not see her eyes, but she could feel the breaths from her parted lips, and her heart raced as she remembered the way she looked in the candlelight. “ _I_ think you’re extraordinary,” she said, smiling. “I would ask you to run away with me if I thought there would be a chance you’d say yes.”

“What? But this town—”

“I know.”

A beat of silence passed between them.

“Why? You hardly know me.”

Stacie shrugged. “Because I think we both need a fresh start. And…maybe well, I would _like_ to know you more without having to try to commit more crimes,” she chuckled with a tinge of unease. “I’m tired too.”

Aubrey buried her nose in the crook of Stacie’s neck, her heart pounding at the thought of leaving behind all that she’d ever known to start new in the arms of an outlaw. One with a heart of gold, but an outlaw nonetheless. There would be stories, rumours tearing her reputation to shreds. She tried to picture her life somewhere entirely unknown, and somehow that is far more terrifying than chasing any runaway train. But to start and end every day like this, warm in the arms of another—she’d never wanted this before, and in a span of hours she could not imagine _not_ wanting this. She suddenly understood now why her father had run away.

By morning, the world will return as they left it for this shack in the middle of nowhere.

By morning, she would put on her coat and her badge, and she would return to her black and white world with a prisoner, an assortment of empty praise, and a hollow heart.

Unless…

Stacie kissed her jaw, her cheek, her nose, chin, and lips. She reached up and cupped Stacie’s face, kissing her back tenderly as Stacie gently rolled her onto her back. “Run away with me,” she whispered.

This—what was she willing to give up for this? She asked herself as she wrapped an arm around Stacie. She was a figure misunderstood by the slander of legends, a runaway outlaw as free as the wind, and above all, a woman who loved so fearlessly. And yet, they fit together so perfectly.

By morning, she would have to decide.

But for now, she simply let herself fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, y'all! Thanks for reading to the very end! I'm super grateful for all my readers. This story was kind of a wild tangent from working on all the fluffy feelings in concluding Bounty. It came kind of out of nowhere! A friend and I were talking about tropes, and I didn't realize "sharing a bed" was one such trope. Of course, given all the opportunities in the PP movies, I was sure it had been done to death, so I racked my brain for something unique. 
> 
> Hopefully, you all found this a little bit different. Honestly, I don't know. I just had a lot of fun with this one. I've always wanted to write a Western, and I had been playing with a couple of ideas for a proper PP western, but definitely nothing like this. I'll also say that research for this story took me into some pretty wild websites. Cowboy porn is so popular, damn! 
> 
> If you are a true, blue, wild west aficionado, I apologize because there was really nothing historical about this. However, I've always been fascinated by the idea of rumours and stories and how they spread and change and evolve. The wild west, especially, was so unlike the imaginings of Hollywood, so I was definitely thinking about this. A few months back, I also purchased a game called Where the Water Tastes like Wine--they really bring this entire concept to life. I recommend it, if you're also a nerd like me. 
> 
> As always, all love is appreciated :) 
> 
> P.S. I may go back to make some edits over the next few days, so I apologize for any distracting errors that you may see.


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